


When Called...

by SilverFaerie



Category: Carpe Noctem, Vampire: The Masquerade, White Wolf, World of Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Conditioning, Dominate, F/M, Mind Control, NSFW, Not a Happy Story, The Echo Chamber, dub-con, warnings for pretty much everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 00:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFaerie/pseuds/SilverFaerie
Summary: Ophelia's Sire is back in town...





	When Called...

“Ophelia, wait! Where are you going?”

Delilah looks confused and hurt and Ophelia knows she could reach out and hold her, use her small frame as an anchor. But the pull is too strong, even if she wanted to resist.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.” She finishes throwing on her coat and heads for the door without looking back. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she doesn’t have to check it to know.

“But you just got here…” The door slams.

\------------------------------------------ 

It has been months, so long that she was starting to doubt his return. But when she feels that familiar pull, right at the base of her neck, just as always she rushes towards the source. If she had known before, she would never have left for the evening, but her compulsive checking of the band’s website had not revealed any tour locations within a night’s travel of the City. She knows that when she gets back to her Haven, her Sire will be there waiting.

She runs as fast as she can through the streets, burning off Vitae to push herself even faster. It is still early in the evening, the horizon line is still pale. By the time she reaches her building, her hair has come loose and there are ladders in her tights but she races up the stairs regardless: if she had to breathe, she would be breathless.

Her hand hovers above the door handle; she’s fully aware that he can hear her from the other side of the thick wood. Looking over her shoulder in both directions, she can’t pretend that she isn’t terrified, but the pull is stronger now and she finds herself frozen in the doorway to her apartment. Her strong hearing makes out an impatient tutting and she throws open the door, letting it shut behind her.

She presses her back hard against the wood, reluctant to move towards him. He has already made himself quite at home in her Haven, lounging on her sofa, his heavy industrial boots leaving grime on the velvet.

“Good evening, my dear.”

She swallows, eyes wide with anticipation. His voice is just as she remembers: just as her collection of albums and singles records; only so much worse in person. Dark and fluid, like India ink, it seeps into her skin and she walks towards him. She doesn’t say a word, just sinks to the floor in front of him and begins to untie the intricate knots of laces to remove his shoes; from practice, it does not take her long. He simply watches in mild amusement for a few moments before closing his eyes and reclining again.

In the months of his absence, her suspicions that these compulsions could be produced by Disciplines had been confirmed. Despite this, she has the horrible feeling that he wouldn’t even have to: in his presence, she feels incredibly small; no magic would be required to get her to submit. She tenderly removes the boots and places them to the side, keeping her head down and avoiding his eyes.

“Why so silent, love? Didn’t you miss me?”

She can’t avoid a direct question, but she keeps her head low.

_“Every second…”_ she half-whispers.

He sits up and places a finger under her chin, raising her head to look at him.

“I know, poor ‘Lia. I missed you too.”

And with his eyes burning into his, she almost believes him. She leans forward and kisses him softly; he allows her a second of contact before she feels the sharp sting of his hand across her face. She recoils, tears in her eyes as she raises her hand to the mark.

“You know the rules, ‘Lia.”

She nods, reprimanding herself internally for her stupid mistake.

“I’ll let you off this time; come back over here.”

She doesn’t even bother to stand, just crawls across the floor until she’s back at his feet. He gestures for her to come closer and she rests her head in his lap. He combs his fingers gently through her hair and she relaxes.

For a few blissful hours, they sit like that as he recounts his latest tour exploits. It stings a little to hear of the other women he picked up along the way, but as he tenderly strokes her hair she knows that she’s the only one allowed to stay, that makes her feel a little better. Perhaps tonight will be a good night after all…

“That’s enough about me for now. Tell me, what has my little pet been up to while I’ve been gone?” She begins to recall her latest adventures: her dealings with the fae, her new friends, her job, carefully avoiding the topic of where she was earlier this evening.

He smiles, looking satisfied and nodding as she speaks. “I’m very proud, you know. I knew you would do well here… But,” - there is a pause and her blood runs cold as he tightens the grip in her hair - “something, or rather someone, is missing from your little story.” His other hand rushes to her throat, dragging her upwards and pinning her against the wall.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

His eyes are burning and she struggles, fingers clawing and the wall behind her.

“I don’t recall ever giving you permission to go out and ghoul some pathetic mortal. Do you think she loves you?”

She tries desperately to look away as his voice slips into her ears. He releases one hand from her hair and brings it down sharply. He tears at her dress and the seams rip.

“You are **mine.** Every inch of you.”

She tries again, more desperately this time, to pull away but his grip is firm and something in her head won’t let her use all of her strength. His icy fingers spider their way inside the torn fabric and her mind begins to spin.

“So, by extension,” he drags his nails across her chest, breaking the skin, and her head rolls back against the plaster “so is she. Maybe I’ll go pay her a visit at the bar one evening…”

Ophelia shakes her head as much as she can. “Nate, please… Please, don’t.”

His grip tightens and she whimpers, her head dropping down as far as she can manage.

“ **Sir** , please! Sir! I’m sorry, I’ll do anything just please leave her out of it. She didn’t do anything…” She’s starting to ramble frantically as images of Delilah, lifeless and abandoned somewhere, flood her mind.

“You do not see this girl again. Do you understand me? You let the blood bond break.” Each word is full of force and feels like another blow. He growls, letting go of her suddenly. She crumples to the floor, and begins to sob silently as she curls in on herself.

“ **That is an order, ‘Lia.** ”

She raises herself up just enough to signify with a nod of her head that she heard him, before collapsing back into the corner. He leaves her like that for a while as he makes some phone calls. She doesn’t bother trying to listen in.

Eventually he kneels beside her and takes her hand, drawing her slowly back up to standing. 

“Come on ‘Lia, stop crying. I want to enjoy your company this evening, and this plaything you’ve been keeping around? Honestly it’s not healthy, these things never last so it’s better to just let it die now.”

She wipes the tears away with the sleeve of her dress and he gives her a moment to compose herself before he leans in and kisses her tenderly. She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing herself closer as he traces patterns up and down her back. Every caress begins to undo the earlier pains, she knows he didn’t really mean it. He was possessive and territorial, so were a lot of her friends; it was part of the condition for them. She was used to it, and he always made up for it: he could be surprisingly romantic when he wanted to be.

Eventually his hands move down, closing gently around her wrists. He looks silently towards the bedroom door, and then back at her. She nods and follows behind him, eager despite herself. He smirks reclining on the bed and looking at her with hungry eyes.

“ **You want to** , don’t you?” She relents without a second thought.

Her dress is already in tatters, it doesn’t take long for her to shed it completely. She climbs onto the bed, straddling his hips and undoing the buttons on his shirt as he traces more lines down her back. She doesn’t need to be told anymore, she knows how he likes things.

Once the shirt has been discarded to the floor, she waits for a moment until he inclines his head, his fingers tracing up the inside of her thighs. Her lips are pulled to his neck like a magnet and her teeth immediately find the right groove in his skin before biting down. The second her fangs find their mark, so do his fingers.

The sweet, bitter, rich, dark liquid begins to spread across her tongue and she moans. All thoughts from earlier evaporate at once, replaced by an all-consuming sense of her Sire: beneath her and above her and inside her. She knows this is the reason she keeps coming back, the magic in the blood, but she keeps drinking.

And then it’s no longer his fingers: bored of teasing, he has moved on to his own pleasures. She moans desperately into his neck, rolling her hips for more contact. Every instinct within in her is firing all at once as she rides him into the mattress, her nails shredding the headboard. Opening her eyes to watch him, she allows herself the fantasy that maybe she is in control for once.

His nails dig into her waist setting the pace: hard and fast, certainly beyond what a mortal could stand. She shudders, gasping for breath as she hovers nears climax, waves of heat pulsing through her. He holds her still for a moment, holding her on the edge, before finally allowing her to peak. As she falls over the edge of her orgasm, she writhes violently, teeth and nails tearing at his skin. He follows not long behind: pulling her tight to him, moaning along with her as he spills inside her, his grip on her hard enough to bruise.

Her teeth are still at his throat and he pulls her away by the hair, dragging her off to the side of the bed before staring up at the ceiling and laughing darkly to himself. He wraps his arm around her still trembling shoulder and kisses her softly.

“This is what I keep coming back for, love. And I have some excellent ideas for tomorrow night…”

She nods, exhausted and curls into his side. That night she dreams of bloodstains and the click of a camera.


End file.
